


Physical

by Macx



Series: Gray Areas [20]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, PWP, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-11
Updated: 2011-05-11
Packaged: 2017-10-19 06:46:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/198084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macx/pseuds/Macx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tension needs release. Even among angels and demons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Physical

A little time had passed since the incident with Craig's diary. One of the many he had written. Beelzebub had been busy ever since. Especially with Craig.

Mostly with Craig.

The hapless demon had been found by none other than the Prince of Hell himself, and he had been punished.

He still was. This was only the beginning.

Beelzebub hadn't decided yet what to do with the lower demon, aside from inflicting the worst punishment he could think on him. Right now it involved handling the incoming mail and bearing the brunt of everyone's wrath because of lost letters, things delivered too late, packages delivered to the wrong address, and hell beasts sent after him because of it.

Things would get worse one day.

Beelzebub was only getting started.

The other demons shunned Craig and many had been sent out into the world of the humans to find his diaries and other dangerous work by Craig. They called themselves lucky to escape the moody Prince of Hell, though sending in reports of failure to procure the diaries wasn't pleasant either.

Beelzebub had called it a 'diplomatic incident', but it was more.

It was personal.

No one who got on the wrong side of this demon would ever be able to make up for it. Craig was a lost cause.

The demons not lucky enough to be sent away had to suffer Beelzebub's temper, his fury, his mood swings, and they knew that the stroke of good luck lately, the time where their boss had been rather pleasant to work with, had come to an abrupt end.

Because of Craig.

Beelzebub sat in his office, glowering at his assistant as the quivering wreck of a secretary read out his daily agenda, then hurried out to his desk to complete the work of weeks to come, do whatever he could already think of, just to keep the wrath of his master from hitting him.

It was no guarantee, though. Beelzebub had been lashing out at everyone for minor things.

He was a demon.

He didn't need a reason or an excuse.

The Prince of Hell let the door fall shut with a loud bang and turned to his computer. There were fewer emails than normal. Only the very daring tried to send in requests, but all were usually cut down.

Beelzebub growled to himself as he deleted most of his inbox. For the last weeks his anger had fed on the memories of his angel. He still saw Michael's so badly depleted form, remembered that they had almost been too late, and the sight of the ravaged wings continued to give him stabs in his stomach. They had parted ways with the arch-angel almost back to normal, sharing a last, deep kiss that he could still taste, and ever since there had been no time to meet.

Beelzebub was busy.

So was Michael.

Whenever one had a time slot open for a little chat or a drink, the other was bound to be caught in a meeting.

Beelzebub's frustration was rising and he was taking it out on his subordinates.

He needed to see the angel. He needed to touch him, feel him, reassure himself that he was now completely healed. The odd email here or there was nice, but it wasn't like the real thing.

Beelzebub groaned softly and closed his eyes, massaging his forehead with his fingers.

He finally typed a message and pushed it past the firewall, then waited for a reply.

It took time.

And finally there was a brief 'I'm sorry, but I was called into a meeting and now need to work on some reports I neglected lately'.

Beelzebub hissed, then grabbed the flatscreen and hauled it across the room where it shattered against a wall.

 

 

Abgen was a demon of the lower ranks and he had been working for Beelzebub for a very long time. He was used to the Prince of Hell's temper tantrums, his mood swings, and his good sides. All his comrades pitied him this place as the demon's personal secretary, but he liked it. It was well-paid, you never got sent to unpleasant places like Earth, and you had mostly normal hours.

Abgen had seen his boss go through various moods and he had been rather pleased to notice a change to the better in the past months. It had started one day, when the higher demon had started to smile, though that was never a good indicator. But aside from the smile his temper had become more even, he was bearable, and his mood swings were no longer so abrupt. Even after meetings with Lucifer he didn't go around hissing, snarling or glowering at others.

Yes, quite an improvement.

That was over.

Ever since Craig, things had gotten a lot worse. Abgen pitied Craig a little, but he was glad Beelzebub had a victim to take his anger out on. And Craig really was getting the brunt of things.

When he heard the monitor shatter, the lower demon sighed deeply. He picked up the in-house phone and called Service.

"Jenjaini? Yes, it's me…. Yes… could be better.. no, no, not that bad… a monitor would do… yes. Make it a brand new one. And maybe… hold on…" Abgen listened and winced at the sound coming from inside, "…a new desk and keep a chair ready…. Thanks… "

And he hung up.

Poor Craig, he thought again.

But bless that demon for destroying Beelzebub's good mood! Now everyone had to suffer and all because of some stupid lower demon with a superiority complex and a very bad sense of humor.

 

* * *

 

Michael sank onto his chair and closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. He felt a faint headache throb behind his eyes. The last few weeks had been… stressful. There was no other word for it. He had been in meetings, briefings and suchlike for hours every day, seeing nothing but reports on his desk when he got back, and there had been things to take care of left and right. Even thought he delegated work to other arch-angels, he was the one it all came from and ran back to. He was His second.

None of the others knew about Michael's kidnapping, about the Summoning through a human who had tried to call upon an angel to have his wishes fulfilled and who had accidentally Summoned an arch-angel by his true name. The Summoning had gone totally wrong and Michael had been trapped in a bubble of space that had slowly leeched his power out of him.

No one knew.

He had a secret that was as terrible as it was special.

Because his saviours had been a demon, an ex-angel and the Prince of Hell, who happened to be his lover. If the others ever found out… Michael didn't give it that much thought any more.

In all that time, there had been a few emails from that special person. Beelzebub seemed to be just as hip-deep in work because their attempts to meet had been thwarted by bureaucracy and management crisis each and every time. The moment Michael had a few hours to spare, he could bet on it that Beelzebub would be busy somewhere, and vice versa.

It was frustrating.

A lot.

And none of the others really raised an eyebrow at Michael's rather unangelic mood. They were used to it from His second in command since he bore the brunt of all complaints, work and orders.

Michael checked his emails and found a brief mail that told him Beelzebub couldn't make time for a cup of coffee, and he smiled tiredly.

"Figures," he whispered. “OH well. It was too much to hope for anyway.”

But he needed to recharge, needed to be away from here, and if things turned out right, he could be by the end of this work week. Whether Beel had time on his hands by then or not, he would pay earth a little visit. Just to unwind.

 

 

Of course things didn't turn out right.

Of course work piled up and a new crises popped up at every corner. Or at least what other angels called a crisis; Michael called it a nuisance that could have been solved by the others without his intervention.

It got bad enough for Michael to nearly lose his temper with Gabriel over a menial matter.

I need time off, he thought desperately after another straining meeting. I need to get out of here. This is worse than Apocalyptic preparations!

And he took time off. He checked with Beelzebub, but he got no reply on his email fro hours, so he just left. He needed fresh air.

 

* * *

 

Michael paid the special coffee house in the back of an old London building a visit, the rustic little place where he had met with Beelzebub such a long time ago to decide where to go from here. They had taken a huge step, a very huge one, and they had become lovers. Ever since, he had felt more balanced. Taking his frustration and stress and anger out in bed had been the perfect solution to his blood pressure problem.

Not that angels truly had blood pressure to worry about, but his mind had felt like he was going to explode and sink like a stone afterwards.

And He had manipulated them into it, Michael was sure, but he couldn't really feel much anger any more. Whatever His Plan was with bringing an arch-angel and the second most powerful demon together, he didn't care anymore. It was so good, Michael refused to think about it.

You like it, a sinister little voice reminded him. You like to fuck him, to be fucked by him. He’s good. You enjoy it.

Shut up!

When he touches you, you want more. You crave him. You want his darkness.

No!

Oh yes, my friend, you do. You want him to touch you as he does. You want more every time and you can’t stop thinking about it.

He screwed his eyes shut, taking a shuddering breath. Where before he had scoffed and grimaced at the very thought of an angel together with a demon, he now understood the attraction. At least in his case it was attraction. Other angels might be disgusted by the vile creatures, but Beel… Michael shivered again when the image of just what his lover looked like, with those red eyes glowing in ecstasy, entered his mind.

You want him, the voice whispered again. You desire his touch. You fear his demonic side whenever it rises, but you also get off on it.

He did. Shameful as it was, he got off on the danger the fangs and claws represented. But he also loved them just being together. He loved kissing the other being, he loved listening to his breathing, to his heartbeat, to feel his warmth,. To hold him and be held.

He loved… angels loved… everything.

Michael pushed the thought violently aside.

Drinking his Latte, he played with a double chocolate chip muffin, taking a bite now and then. The coffee house was highly frequented today. There were a lot of locals, chatting, listening to the folkloristic music, reading the paper or just looking out the window into the rainy street.

Of course it would be raining. It fit his whole mood.

A deep growl of thunder made some of the guests look toward the window, and then the rain increased. There was even a moment of hail.

Oh so perfect, he thought glumly.

Not that he was sexually frustrated. He just wanted to be with Beel, talk, be understood and understand him in turn. They had so many similarities… there was so much between them and it wasn’t anything bad.

Michael huddled into the old armchair that was highly comfortable. It was next to an even older open fireplace, which wasn't in use.

Rain, a thunder storm, a hot coffee and a chocolate treat. Yes, he truly felt like it. Gluttony. Moping gluttony. Depressed gluttony.

The door opened and let in a gust of wind, as well as a very drenched looking figure in a black raincoat. Water dripped off the man, but he didn't seem to be either drenched or wet at all. Michael's eyes were on his almost empty Latte, contemplating another one, but the second he felt the aura, his head snapped up.

Red eyes behind blue-tinged glasses met his and the angel felt something sizzle through him. It was like a physical connection forming between them without either one touching the other. The sizzle turned into a hot rush of anticipation as his lover came closer, each movement lithe and predatory, a large cat stalking its prey.

Michael shifted as something stirred, reacted to the pure sex radiating off Beelzebub, and he felt his stomach flutter. His breath caught and the sinister voice inside him cheered, danced and urged him to react.

He couldn’t. He just stared.

Beelzebub stopped in front of him, placed a hand on the back of the armchair, the other taking the arch-angel's chin and tilting his head up.

Their lips met.

It was like kerosene and a spark. It was an explosion.

Michael's lips opened and he welcomed the missed presence of his lover, closing his eyes as sensations overwhelmed him from just this kiss.

The voice yelled its triumph.

It was long. It was deep. It was hot. It relayed more than any words could have. There was hunger and need and gentleness and sheer raw sex. He was ready to come here and now. In his pants. Didn't care.

The other patrons of the café had watched the display and there were more than a few jealous looks as the two lovers reacquainted themselves. It was only a kiss, but it was almost as if they were having sex under their lustful stares. Wild, hot sex, no holds barred, and in public.

Michael felt strangely elated to have so many eyes on him, that this relationship was shown to the world, that people noticed, and that Beelzebub didn't care.

The sizzle was stronger and he shifted with increased arousal. He wanted more.

Now.

And he didn't care if it was a public place. His whole aura radiated 'Take me here, take me now, do something, Beel!'

The answer was in those red eyes. Not here. Love to, but not here, not for this, not now.

He shuddered as his lips were caressed by a strong digit, and his own hands had clenched rather possessively into Beelzebub’s clothes, one resting on a slim hip.

Money landed on the table as the two immortals left, Michael's eyes fixed on the very erotic sight of his lover. His fingers itched to touch those tightly clad legs again, run explorative finger tips over the inviting fabric, touch and massage and squeeze. He wanted to be under that shirt, feel the warm skin, kiss that hellish mouth, witness his lover's passion.

There were a few sighs, mostly from women, but also one or two men, as they left.

Outside, the rain hadn't lessened, but it didn't dare touch them. Beelzebub's eyes were glowing with arousal and he rumbled softly as he pulled the angel into his arms, renewing the kiss, reminding Michael just what he had needed the last weeks.

And he wanted it now. Right now!

Impatiently, Michael tugged at the leather coat and Beel chuckled, the sound whispering down the angel's spine. There was a promise in those eyes. A promise that Beelzebub would make him feel everything, experience it all, and then some.

 

*

 

The moment they materialized in their flat, Michael had no time to do more than just gasp, then the hungry lips fastened on his and he was pushed against the wall, connecting hard. He opened his mouth and Beelzebub took the opportunity to delve inside. The angel's hands clenched in his lover's shoulders. A leg was wedged between his thighs and he groaned as the contact became more intense, as hands were suddenly under his t-shirt, and then he felt the claws emerge.

He groaned at the sensation. Hard, sharp claws against warm skin. Tickling, teasing, arousing. His legs opened more and their hips were suddenly very close. Fangs grazed his neck and Beelzebub's nimble fingers were undoing buttons, pushing away fabric that was in the way.

The demon growled possessively, but no words were uttered.

He couldn't fight back – he wanted this; he needed this so badly. His whole body thrummed with need, vibrated with lust, and he wanted it so badly. He surrendered to his lover's skilled touch, never more aware of what breathing could do to a body. He was on a rush.

Beelzebub let up for a second, red eyes glowing with those emotions, and he pulled his lover over to the wide bed. Michael was pushed onto the mattress, then there was a very horny demon on him, tearing the clothes apart.

The arch-angel closed his eyes and just felt. His whole body was giving in to a need he had felt building up for weeks, and release wouldn't be simple or just once. He knew it would be intense.

And it was.

It was a sudden explosion, a cry wrenching from his lips as he bucked against the sinewy form keeping him down, and his hands buried against muscular shoulders. He heard an echoing groan, felt Beelzebub move against him with an almost frantic rhythm.

Taking the edge off.

Before there might be an accident.

Michael closed his eyes, panting, still feeling the deep thrum of need, of ecstasy. His hands were still clawing into Beel’s shoulders, holding on tightly.

More. He needed more. This hadn't been enough.

Strong hands caressed his limbs, mapped every inch of his skin, and his lover's lips left a trail of hot and wet kisses. Blue eyes met demonic red ones as the other lay above him, straddling him, threaded those dangerous claws through his hair.

Missed you, Michael thought, unable to say it. I missed you and I missed this. Not just for the sex…

And the little voice inside him snickered. Triumphantly.

He didn't know if his eyes told the words, but from Beelzebub's suddenly astonished expression, they were. He reached up, caught the other around the neck and pulled him down.

The kiss was long, deep, more than just the hungry version of before. It relayed a lot, more than needing a good fuck. It relayed pent-up emotions neither of the two dared to utter out loud, and Michael tasted the intensity within his lover.

Beelzebub tore himself away from the contact and thumbed a perky nipple, making Michael arch and whisper his pleasure. His whole body was suddenly acutely aware of the other being. His first release had only managed to heighten his sensitivity.

The angel's legs opened wider. An invitation.

More, he thought. Need more. Here. Now! Please…?

The invitation was taken.

Beelzebub slid home without much preparation and the friction had the angel groan deeply in his chest. His eyes closed, all his muscles locked, and he panted hard.

He felt like a puppet in his lover's skilled hands. He felt like he didn't belong to this body any more. He felt so much and couldn't put it into words. It was too intense, but not enough. It was too fast, but not deep and hard enough. It was pure energy, intermingling with lust and sex and Heaven and Earth and Hell, and everything. It was like so many times before, but more. And different. So much more. So very different. It was frustration and need, and it tore him away, made him float and fall and cry with his needs.

He felt claws slide over his skin and the angel inside him shivered with fear, aware how vulnerable he was. But he was also excited and everything vibrated with that excitement.

Beelzebub pulled him up, hips moving, and he moved even deeper, Michael whimpering with the renewed sensation. He needed release. Now. No finesse, just the heady explosion of passion and lust and primal desire.

His voice felt raw, his pleas without words, and suddenly there was no going back. He felt it like an overpowering flood, pressing down on him, and then there was only… the rush. It tore him apart and made him whole in one.

Fangs buried in his shoulder and the pain combined with the pleasure, making it a heady, intoxicating ride. He held onto the demon, wanted him closer, deeper, more, and still it wasn't enough until his body sagged. He was caught in strong arms and moaned softly.

 

* * *

 

Sated, limp, body still glowing from the sexual power that had coursed through him, Beelzebub lay on his side, head on one hand, the other stroking over the angel's smooth, slender back. Sometimes his fingers would tangle in the silky hair, then continue the loving caress of a body that looked healthy and wonderful and felt so divine.

Michael was purring softly, radiating deep satisfaction, and Beelzebub regarded the marks he had left on the divine being with pride. He knew he was bearing similar ones. Angels, while not having fangs, could bite. And leave hickeys. Oh yeah…

Leaning down, placing kisses along a healing scratch, he listened to the soft, content sigh.

"By the way," Beelzebub murmured. "Did I mention 'hi'?"

Michael chuckled. "In a way. Missed me, hm?"

The question was answered by a very passionate kiss that managed to stoke the simmering fire within him.

"I guess," he gasped. "Feel good?"

"Wonderful," was the muffled reply.

Beelzebub knew he was feeling the same. Almost divine. And he felt more. He felt terrible, frightening things, something he didn't know what it was and didn't want. He felt it intensely, painfully, and it manifested in wanting to just hold the angel, caress him, kiss him. It was a feeling that scared the powerful demon. It was an emotion he didn't want.

But it was there.

He pushed it away.

“I wish I could stay here,” Michael suddenly whispered, surprising his demonic counterpart.

Beelzebub gazed at him with slightly bemused, but very much surprised, eyes.

“Heaven is… heaven,” Michael answered the unspoken question. “But down here… it’s easier. I know it isn’t, for real anyway. But everything is so far away. All the trouble and the differences and the problems…”

“Yeah,” the demon agreed.

He knew what Michael was saying. The moment he was back, work would drown him again. But here, he was away. It was like a remote little island. Here, there was only Michael and him. It felt good.

He ran gentle claws over the naked back, still having all his demonic traits despite his slowly receding arousal. He cupped the flushed face and pressed their lips together. Michael answered it with the same depth and passion and lo… Beelzebub killed that thought.

A demon didn’t feel like this; and despite their frequent encounters, their rising passion, the way they spent their time together, Michael didn’t feel it either. Beelzebub regarded the glaring red bite mark on the angel’s neck and caressed it carefully.

“Want to go out?”

“Where to?”

Beelzebub smiled lazily. “There’s a little pub at the corner. They have decent food.”

“Hm. You think you can restrain yourself long enough so we can eat?” the angel teased.

He growled a little. “Restrain myself? You’re the one with your hands all over me.”

Michael chuckled. “What can I say? It’s hard not to touch you,” he whispered seductively.

Beelzebub’s growl rose and he grabbed one of those teasing hands, pushing them over the blond’s head as he straddled the lithe form. Michael looked at him, a blatant taunt in his eyes, and Beelzebub felt his inner demon react. He dove into an almost brutal kiss that claimed the angel as his. Michael arched into the possessive kiss, moaning encouragement, and the demon lost himself in the explosive need to bury himself in the pliant form once again.

 

 

In a bookshop in Soho, an angel looked up from his book-keeping, frowning a little, then sighed. Outside the faintly dusty window panes, a thunder storm was blasting through London. It was hailing like crazy and everyone who didn’t have to be outside, wasn’t.

“Them again,” a voice grumbled.

Aziraphale smiled as Crowley walked out the back room and gazed sullenly out the windows.

“It’s not so bad, dear,” the angel answered.

“Not so bad? Knowing every time they get at it like rabid rabbits?” Crowley snorted.

Aziraphale’s smile stayed. “It’s a good way of releasing tension.”

Crowley’s yellow eyes narrowed. He wasn’t wearing his sunglasses. It was something he did whenever they were alone. Aziraphale enjoyed the sight.

“Tension. Uh-huh.”

“There is a lot of tension between them.”

“They’re enemies,” Crowley pointed out.

“As were we.”

“Were, angel. Were. Big difference.”

“Crowley,” came the chastising reply.

The demon glowered at him, but he walked back to Aziraphale’s desk and perched himself on it. The angel scowled a little and tugged at some of his papers, removing them from under Crowley’s behind.

“I’m only saying,” Crowley still held on to the topic, “that I don’t need to know about it happening, okay? They can relieve their stress whatever way they like, but does it have to have such results?”

“He is an archangel and Beelzebub is the Prince of Hell.”

“So?”

“They have more power than we do. Their excess energy has to go somewhere, and things start to happen.”

Crowley only muttered something uncomplimentary under his breath. But deep within he was glad that this excess energy wasn’t taken out on someone else, like him. Beelzebub always saw him as a convenient target and Crowley was fed up with the Prince of Hell using him to work off his angelic frustration.

“Oh well,” he mumbled.

He felt Aziraphale’s hand on his back, rubbing it reassuringly. The aura rose a little and Crowley smiled involuntarily.

Oh well, he thought again. Whatever happened between those two, it was probably good for them. He could only draw from his own experience with his angel, and that had been more than good.

It was perfect.

And maybe, just maybe, Beelzebub had found the same truth.


End file.
